


Peaches

by snoipahs



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 17:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13663776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoipahs/pseuds/snoipahs
Summary: I love our house, I really do. It’s perfect.I just hate how empty it always is.





	Peaches

I love our house, I really do. It’s perfect.

I just hate how empty it always is.

And I love my job, but I hate being away from my husband. And I know Roxas loves his job, but he hates being away from me. And when we’re both away from the house, I shouldn’t have to be sad because we’re both out doing what we love, no one’s sitting there alone, but then I think about how good it feels to fuck in that big crisp bed that sits there made and tidy when we’re not home and I want to cry.

I don’t tell Roxas about this, but deep down, I hope he feels the same way.

Whenever he comes home after being away I cling to him like we're still dating and I'm wondering if he loves me as much as I love him. He tells me all about the recording studio, the rehearsals, the boys and how they're doing. But what I really like is how hoarse and husky his voice gets after he's been singing. It makes me smile so wide. My man did his best, came this close to turning his lungs inside-out, and he’s still beaming to see me. He wants to take my hand and lead me away to the bedroom like the rest of the house is full of spies and he’s looking for a safe place to tell me a secret.

I make the bed just so we can ruin it. I don’t tell Roxas about this, either, but he must feel the same way. He rips the sheets up like he’s frustrated with me for bothering to tuck them in in the first place. Like, how dare those linens lay where he’d like to rail his wife, reeking of Downy and air conditioning. Off this instant. 

Once when we were done and he was melting into the mattress, I was still rocking up and down on his lap, not letting him go soft, not letting him sleep. It’s mean, but I think it’s fun to get him so delirious when his body is too tired to pump all the blood that went below his waist back to his head again.

“Fucking you is like eating a ripe peach.” He’d usually open his mouth, say some awkward loving shit like that, then smile all trumphantly before his eyes rolled back in his sockets and he was gone. But that particular one just got me.

“What?” I laughed so hard my insides squeezed his six inches and he moaned an exhausted little moan. 

My poor husband isn’t that good at words even when he’s well-rested and full of fluids. He bumped me off his lap and I pouted, laying me on my back before crawling over my torso and burying his face in my cleavage.

“Last month I went to the farmer’s market without you,” he mumbled, teeth sinking into my flesh. “And I saw these peaches, these fat, juicy, gorgeous little fuckers—“ Roxas made squeezing claws with both hands and used my breasts for fruit. “—I bought three. Not one made it back to the house.”

Where had I been that day? Los Angeles, in all likelihood. I never thought about what Roxas did when I was gone. I never asked. Now I was picturing my husband, alone, meandering through crowds and produce stands on Palm Canyon Drive, but he was no longer my husband. He was a poet.

“It was so fucking hot that day,” he groaned. I snorted. Shakespeare between my thighs. “But my sweat smelled good. And these peaches tasted /so/ good. I stood under a mister outside the Hilton while I ate my peaches and I thought of you. Do you remember when we stayed there?”

“Yeah.” I sucked your dick in that shower. We were looking for a house to buy. Of course I remember staying there. These were all thoughts that went through my head, but I didn’t want to derail his story. Telling it was filling him with life again.

“Mmm...” he hummed, and his eyes grew glassy. I wanted to reach down and slap his cheeks. Wake up, wake up. You were being so cute. Tell me you remember how I sucked your dick. Tell me how happy you were when we finally found the house we’re living in now. Or tell me you forgot all about how we found our home that day because I’m just that good at sucking your dick. You could barely stand after I was finished with you. How could you possibly remember?

Damn it, Roxas. Just tell me you love this fucking house.

“I love you.”

I blinked. His eyes fluttered shut and stayed closed. My lips puckered as I watched him shift slightly, settling down to sleep. 

I’m jealous that he can do that. Just say the Big Thing and not even wait for me to say it back. Once I sat on his suitcase and wouldn’t get up until he told me how sorry he was he had to leave, how silly of him to agree to three trips in one month. He looked at me with these pained eyes, and I couldn’t tell what it was he really regretting; that he could sing, or that he had married me. When he said the Big Thing to me then and added a desperate Please, I got up off his stuff and quietly watched him finished packing. I can make the Big Thing hurt. 

I don’t think Roxas is jealous of that.

When he’s gone, I go build up the garden. He’s very aware of this. I don’t let him go inside until I show him every new addition to the rock lawn. The bills come in and he laughs at how much money I spend on succulents, but we pay them just fine. I tell him it’s either that, or we can take a stack of cash to the adoption agency and I’ll mother something else. He calls my bluff. Then I smile and let it go.

“You’d be an amazing mother.” He says this, even though he knows I don’t believe him. 

He says this because he doesn’t love the house, he loves me, and he loves fucking me raw and filling me up even though he knows there'll never be another heartbeat inside me. Never be another heartbeat in this house but our own. 

I think that's why I hate the empty house. It's dead without us. It's too clean. It's too big. Too white. Too welcoming. Too... house. Looks like it looked when we bought it, and even then it's exactly what I wanted, but it's too much like me. Poor bitch can't have any kids either. It's a fucking house.

I do my best to fill it with love anyway, but then he takes it all and walks right out the door with it. 

Roxas told me, before he married me, that I'd be an amazing wife, too. I'll never tell him this, but I didn't believe him. He's the only boy I ever loved. I watched him become a man, and before I knew it, I was a woman. I was his woman. And he's an amazing husband.

Am I an amazing wife? I can't be. I worry too damn much about shit that doesn't matter. 

He does his best to fill the house, too. I'll pretend he does it just for me. I like his record room, probably a lot more than he likes my stuffed animals. And when his brothers all come over to visit, I get three more kisses, and it's the best. They all kiss just like him. I love them for being just like him.

No, I worry too much. It doesn't matter. It can't matter. I love my job, I love my husband, I love my plants, I love my house.

I can love myself.

On our honeymoon, I didn't think about our empty house. Not once. I thought about how gorgeous his wispy hair is in the morning light, how tenderly it falls over his sleeping face. I thought about how lucky I had been to marry such a lovely young man. I thought about waking him up to tell him how much I love him. But I didn't. 

I wish I had.

The honeymoon ended and our lives started. But sometimes I still wake up and it’s that morning, sunrise streaming in, golden locks shining on my golden boy. Being an amazing husband is hard work, and he needs his rest.

I’m the one that’s gotta go this morning. Last night he helped me pack my stuff. He also made me moan until my throat got sore. My hips are still sore. My makeup artist is gonna have to cover the hickeys he left. He’s still sound asleep, probably dreaming about ripe peaches. I brush his bangs back and give him the lightest kiss I can possibly manage. When he stirs, my heart cracks, but then he rolls over and snuggles up next to my side of the bed. It’s still warm.

“I love you,” I whisper. Maybe he smiles, maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he can hear me, but then again, I already know what he would say back.

I leave, and Roxas is the only heartbeat in the house. He’s keeping it alive for me, for us.

It’s perfect again.


End file.
